Cold
by Nicky T
Summary: Slash Theme. Harry thinks about a lost love. Ficlet.


Cold  
  
by; Nicky T  
  
In one of those rare quiet moments where we laid just staring at each other and enjoying each other's presence, he looked at me and said; 'What do you fear the most Harry?' At the time I had no answer for him. I just smiled, kissed him lightly and whispered; "Nothing."  
  
I didn't know anything then.  
  
I was just a stupid kid, who's biggest concern was making it through school alive. Back then I didn't understand. I thought if I could just defeat Voldemort, if I could just live through it, everything would be okay.  
  
I was wrong.  
  
My hands are so cold now. I can't feel them anymore. I stare down at the snow in my hands. Long ago the warmth leaked from me, so that the snow doesn't melt in my grasp. It snowed on that day. Maybe that's why I'm out here, freezing my ass off, sitting in a pile of snow. Maybe that's why I can't think straight, and why I can't feel. My heart iced over on that day.   
  
I died.  
  
Not in the typical way, but in a way that hurts so much more. My soul screamed, and fought, but in the end my heart won, and I died inside. Where it matters the most.   
  
'You thought I loved you? You're an idiot.'  
  
How could he say it so calmly? I don't understand, I don't think I ever will. That day... it snowed that day, but all I can remember is the burning heat in my stomach, and the piercing pain in my heart.  
  
The look in his eyes as he sneered, then turned and walked away. The pain in my heart, the numdness in my hands. They were numb then, just as they are now.  
  
'Why?'  
  
Why did it turn out this way? Why didn't I see? He was all I wanted. He was all I needed to live for. And with eight simple words he tore my life apart.  
  
Voldemort died. I finished school, but none of it mattered. I was stupid to think it would matter. He's right. I am an idiot.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
The memory of his voice. Still so clear.  
  
"Why are you sitting out here, Harry? You'll freeze."  
  
The gentle, loving way he would hold my hand. The strength he'd give me, just through one look.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
The snow in my hands is turning red, and somehow it's prettier that way. Nothing should be so pure. Naive. I feel cold tears on my cheeks, and in some ways they surprise me. I didn't think I could cry anymore. I cried so much after he left.  
  
"Grief, Harry. You're bleeding." Her voice is soft, concerned as she kneels beside me.  
  
"I know, 'Moine." I hear the words, and know that I spoke them, and yet I didn't feel them. My body is reacting instinctively to her presence.   
  
She moved in with me a few months ago. I think Lupin sent her. They all think I've gone crazy. I know they think it. They don't know. I never told them and neither did he. No one knew how much I loved him. No one knew that every night he would sneak into my bed and we'd hold each other until morning.  
  
They wouldn't understand.  
  
I don't understand.  
  
She has been helpful. She's someone to talk to, someone who at least understands about Voldemort, if nothing else. But she doesn't have what I want. What I need.  
  
She's not him.  
  
I feel her hand touch my cheek, then she's brushing the snow off my hands, and pressing something warm against my bleeding palms. She murmurs something under her breath and I feel the soothing touch of magic. If only it were that easy to heal the wounds inside.  
  
"Harry," she sounds hesitant, as if she's about to say something she doesn't want to, "what happened between you and Ron?"  
  
And there it is.  
  
The question no one asked. The question no one was smart enough to see.  
  
I breathe in deeply, and as I let the air out of my lungs I answer, "I loved him."  
  
She winces, placing her hand on my shoulder, "I'm sorry."  
  
I lean towards her, desperately needing her warmth, even if she isn't what I need. She holds me. My hands begin to tingle as some feeling returns.  
  
"Let's go inside."  
  
I nod and let her lead me back into the house, but before I walk back into the warmth I look back at the snowy land.   
  
Broken.  
  
How ironic. It wasn't my greatest enemy that defeated me, it was my love.  
  
'What do you fear the most Harry?'  
  
"Losing you." 


End file.
